


You Held Me Down

by Odderancy (dreamcatchers_and_chocolate)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Babybones (Undertale), Gen, Minor Bullying, Minor Character Death, Swapfell Royal Guard, Swapfell Sans, The Royal Guard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatchers_and_chocolate/pseuds/Odderancy
Summary: ...but I got up, already brushing off the dustSans has been told again and again that his dreams are impossible. A nobody from the Hotland slums isn't going to go where he wants in life, it'snot going to happen. He has other plans. If there is one thing he is, it's stubborn, and he is going to fight with fangs and claws to get where he belongs - the top.





	You Held Me Down

**Ten**

The Royal Guard was coming through Hotland again. Slipping outside, Sans pulled up the hood of his striped hoodie as he scuttered past the crowd gathered to watch. It had its advantages to be little. His soul pounded inside his ribcage as he stared at the armoured monsters marching past, all in perfect order. In the very front, the Captain led them all. Powerful, intimidating, important. Watching in awe, Sans could feel his eyelights change into stars.

“Wow,” he whispered. The hot, dry air must be excruciating in those heavy armours, yet not a single one showed a sign of caring. Of being affected at all. The discipline was perfect. They were New Home’s own forces, scouting out the way to ensure Her Majesty’s safety as she travelled through the Underground. He grinned widely as they moved, perfectly in sync. “I wanna be in th’ Guard one day.”

“Pfa,” someone said above him. Sans’ eyes widened. He hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud. Swallowing, he glanced up at the monster, a cat monster in a torn crop top. Sans recognized him well, it was one of their neighbours. “Dream on. Like a 1HP runt like ya, from th’ Hotland slum no less, could ever.”

Ducking his head, Sans held in a growl. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he didn’t allow them to fall. Yes, it was unlikely, he knew that. However smart he was in school, the chances someone like him would ever get into the Guard was less than slim. Sticking his hands into the hoodie’s pockets, he clenched his fists. Didn’t meant they had to rub it in his face like that.

In the end of the guard force, the Lieutenant marched, keeping the group gathered together. Leading the scouts ensuring no one was following them. Their expression was proud, ruthless, as they kept an eye on the crowd. Their eyes glazed over most of the spectators, before they caught Sans’ gaze. His breath hitched, and his soul stopped dead. The corner of their mouth twitched, revealing multiple sharp fangs. Then they looked away, leaving Sans gaping. When his soul kickstarted again, it beat so hard he almost lost his breath.

* * *

**Thirteen**

“Children, stand up,” the teacher ordered. On cue, about a third of the class obeyed, the shuffling of chairs following. On her glare, most other followed, including Sans. He groaned as he slid out of the uncomfortable plastic chair, placing a hand on the bench he shared with three other people, so he could lean on it. Only the class’ biggest rebels were sitting now. Sans quite admired how they dared defy Mrs. Miewer like that, she was really fucking scary sometimes. Just as he thought it, she straightened, towering over them. “Those of you who continue sitting will find yourself cleaning up the cafeteria tomorrow.”

That was effective. Slowly, slowly, the last students stood up. Mrs. Miewer nodded sharply before stepping toward the door, unlocking it. Why they bothered to lock it, Sans didn’t know. It wasn’t like a kick wouldn’t have it off its hinges. He knew, because it had happened last year when two of the older kids decided to get out of attention that way.

When she opened the door, the entire class gasped. Outside, a royal guard stood, in full uniform. The Delta Rune shone on his chest, proving that she was a servant of the Crown. A Knight Knight. She stepped in, as Mrs. Miewer stepped away to make place for her. Sans stared in awe, his mouth falling open. What was a _royal guard_ doing _here_?

The Knight Knight marched up to the blackboard, which was broken on the edges. She didn’t bother to look at them until she turned to face them, looking bored. “Since criminality is on the rise, I have been assigned to warn all of you,” she said. “Hotland is full of gangs and perhaps some of you have already joined one. The members of these gangs will be _ruthlessly_ hunted down and executed by the Crown, without an ounce of mercy. Understood?”

“Understood,” most of the class mumbled, the enthusiasm quickly dying down. Another one. Sans resisted the urge to roll his eyelights, and pressed himself off the bench as she continued to warn them, telling them in gruesome detail what the punishment for gang activity was. Hadn’t he already seen worse in real life, Sans likely would’ve felt sick. But what were words, really, when you’d already seen multiple of your neighbours dust on the street?

“Any questions?” the Knight Knight finished.

Before he could convince himself not to, Sans stuck his hand in the air. She nodded at him, permitting him to speak. “What if we wanna join th’ Guard an’ help when we grow outta stripes?”

Muffled laughter spread through the classroom. Sans clenched his hands as a furious flush lit up his cheeks. Let them laugh. He hunched his shoulders, regretting he had asked. The Knight Knight looked bored. “Guard trials. But I sincerely doubt anyone from here have what it takes.”

Nodding stiffly, Sans accepted the answer. When there were no other questions, the Knight Knight left, and the students slid into their chairs. Behind his back, he could hear someone giggle. At least they didn’t laugh in his face. They wouldn’t dare, or his dad would be quite cross with them. No one wanted to anger the Riverman.

* * *

**Sixteen**

Taking Papyrus’ hand, Sans led him through the crowded square, away from his favourite thrift shop. They often found really nice clothes there. Cheap, and sometimes hardly frayed. Where they came from, he didn’t know, nor did he care. If he didn’t have to dress like a hobo, he was happy. Also this time, they had a new sweater for Papyrus – sweaters were extra cheap, since most monsters couldn’t wear them in Hotland – and both a new skirt and a new leather jacket for him.

Sliding in behind one of many bars, full of people wishing to get drunk, he glanced around before picking Papyrus up. The shorter immediately clung to his neck, holding on tight. His legs dangled in front of Sans. Papyrus didn’t say a word. They’d trained this, in case they needed to get away fast. Hurting children was illegal, and the stripes acted as protection, but not everyone cared. Especially if they were drunk. Not even if they were the terrifying Riverman’s kids. Though Papyrus was growing heavy, and much too tall, so soon they wouldn’t be able to do this anymore. Seemed like he’d outgrow Sans within a year.

Stepping in behind a few barrels, he turned Papyrus around, so he sat on his back instead, and scaled the wall until he could climb over the gate. Behind, the gym area lied. This late, it was closed, which meant no one would be there. That meant Sans could have it all for himself.

“Stand guard, Pap,” he told his brother. If someone saw them, there’d be a hell to pay.

Papyrus was twelve now, and a quiet kid. But he nodded, grinning at Sans. He plopped the lollipop he was sucking at out of his mouth. “O’ course.”

Chuckling fondly, Sans turned away, gathering his magic. Focusing on the dummies on the other side of the field, he summoned his bones, sending them away in a flurry. If no one wanted to teach him without him paying them, then he’d have to teach himself, and that was exactly what he’d been doing the past four years.

* * *

**Nineteen**

“Sans Gaster,” the sergeant major called out, looking down on his list. Stepping forward, dressed in the same bland, indigo uniform as all the other applicants, Sans pressed his fist to his chest in a salute. The sergeant only nodded, gesturing toward the training material spread out over the flat cliff. “From the slum, huh,” Sans heard him mumble, and he gritted his teeth. The sergeant glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Yes sir,” Sans replied sharply before breaking out into a run. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a wall of bones, keeping the bullets thrown toward him by the assistant guards from hitting their goal.

His soul pounded in his chest. He shot them toward the dummies. Summoned bones from the ground, piercing them. In the corner of his eye, he spotted another projectile. He narrowed his eyes. Threw himself behind a rock, the rough surface scraping his bones. Scaling the rock, he stared down at the area. At the guards, all focused on him. On his targets, all spread across the field. The sergeant major, watching him. Throwing himself off, he made a volt. Rolled as he landed before bouncing back on his feet.

If he was hit, that’d be it. Since he gained his first LV, his HP had raised. But these were royal guards. Their intent was enough to take all his 15HP in one hit. Adrenaline pulsed through him. He raised a hand. A flurry of bones rained down on the dummies. One of them screamed. Another shot bullets at him. Forming a bone, he hit them, sending them back where they came from. Another was out.

Sweat dripped down his brow. Glancing to the sergeant major, who wasn’t looking impressed, he concentrated. Three Blasters formed, hanging in the air. He fired. The beam was blinding as he turned them. Within second, only burnt remains were left, as well as a few angry-looking ghosts. Panting, he dispelled them. Sans turned back to the sergeant, who was staring, wide-eyed.

“Sir,” he said, saluting again.

“You’re in, Gaster,” the sergeant major finally said, and Sans couldn’t suppress his grin. “You’ll be assigned a patrol by next week.”

“Thank ya, sir.” Holding in his squeal was difficult, but he managed. He was pretty proud over that.

* * *

**Twenty**

The salary was decent, better than any money Sans had ever made. Better than the few coins his dad earned as the Riverman as well, and now when Papyrus had gotten a job in a shop, they were certainly better off than ever before. Even so, he _hated_ his job.

Growling, he summoned a bone, pressing it to the jaw of the monster kneeling on the ground. Another day, another small-scale thief. Being a guardsman in this part of Hotland meant nothing other than that you’d spend your day threatening drunkards and thieves stealing to survive, and watching out for the gang-activity you couldn’t do anything about anyway since they were more than you were, and more powerful. And, in his case, trying to stop his fellow guards from taking bribes and turning away their eyes. This was _not_ what he had had in mind when joining the Guard. He wanted _out_ of Hotland. _Out of this hellscape_.

The thief whimpered, staring up at him with frightened eyes. Sighing, Sans rolled his eyes. “I warned ya last time, ya idiot. If I caught ya again, it’d be over.”

“Plea-” before he could even finish the word, Sans jabbed out with the sword, piercing their throat. They coughed, and within seconds turned to dust. Fresh EXP rushed through him, and he shivered in pleasure. Checking his stats, Sans’ felt the corner of his mouth twitch. LV4. Not bad.

Fishing up his phone from his pocket, he pressed one of the numbers he had on speed-dial. When they picked up, he quickly gave them the address before spitting out, “And hurry up with it before the dust is scattered.”

New policy forced them to keep track of the dust they created, so the Crown would know how the population levels looked. It was logical, but a huge pain in his ass. He glared at the crowd who had gathered until they scattered before turning his back to the pile of dust, and go find his incompetent colleagues. Probably at a tavern again, drinking away their day. Holy fucking fuck, what had he done to deserve this?

* * *

**Twenty-one**

“Hey, freeze!”

The thief straightened, glancing back at them, before throwing themself out the window. Sans could hear the crash as he landed among the trash a floor down. Sprinting up to the window, he saw the thief scurry out on the street, carrying the sack full of gold on their back. Not a chance. Turning around, he saw his commander was opening his mouth, likely to give some stupid order. Before he got the chance, Sans told them, “I’m following them.”

Pulling himself up on the window, he climbed out the other side before pressing away, allowing him to land a bit away from the wall. Landing, he rolled, and stood before following the thief. The street was full, they had been stupid enough to break in in the middle of the day. His breathing quickened as he ordered the bystanders out of his way, dancing around those who didn’t obey.

Looking around, he searched for the thief in their red hood. A glance was all he needed. Doing a ninety-degree turn, he crossed the street, sprinting after the other. They were going out of the slums, down to the finer parts of Hotland. Fucking- They _better_ not get anywhere near NTT Hotel or there would be a hell to pay for Sans.

The crowded back alleys were left behind, and Sans paid the guards stationed along the street little mind as he raced by them. If they hadn’t understood to stop the thief, they couldn’t be trusted. His high heels smattered against the stone ground, and sweat dripped down his brow. The lava down the cliffs flashed by. There. Oh _fuck no_. NTT Hotel, right there. Gritting his teeth, he hurried past a few well-dressed pedestrians. Paid their indignant shouts no heed.

Summoning a bone attack, he threw it toward the criminal. They dodged in last minute. Yells were spreading among the Hotland residents. Demands to know what was going on. If he… Yes. Turning around another corner, he left the main road, running around the hotel. Darkness surrounded him as he came behind, running beneath the bridge leading toward the CORE.

The thief had to be coming this way, there were only so many roads through the Underground. Before the disbelieving eyes of the spectators, he climbed the hotel, seating himself on a windowsill. Sans held his balance by digging his claws into the stone wall. Now he could only wait.

And it wasn’t for naught. Less than a minute later, the thief came strolling, obviously believing Sans had given up. Their smug grin made him want to growl, but he waited. Holding his breath, he didn’t move an inch. The thief closed in, and soon, they were just beneath him. Sans grinned. Snapping his fingers, he turned their soul blue, lifting them into the air. Rising, he stepped off the windowsill, falling the five meters down to the ground. He chuckled, bringing the squirming, terrified criminal down to his height.

“Gotcha.”

Just as he turned around, a voice called. “Soldier! At attention!”

Freezing, Sans snapped into attention, although he didn’t let go off the thief. His eye continued to blaze purple as the criminal whimpered. Before him stood the Lieutenant. The very same one who he had seen all those years ago. He immediately saluted her, feeling his soul drum in his chest. Was she angry he’d allowed a thief to come as far as NTT Hotel with all its fancy guests?

“What’s your name and patrol, soldier?” she demanded, studying him closely. She was a fish lady with dark brown hair, and wearing a formal uniform instead of her armour.

Sweat dripped down Sans’ spine as he answered. “Sergeant Sans Gaster, Lieutenant, o’ Hotland Unit Fifty-three.”

She blinked, frowning. “By Toriel, what are you doing there? You are obviously much too skilled for those _slums_. It was a long time ago I saw something like that. Never seen someone climb a wall that easily, unless they were a spider.”

Unable to help it, he boggled, staring at her. He opened his mouth to reply, explain that he was born there, no one had wanted to send him somewhere else, when she shook her head. “You are the Riverman’s oldest son, aren’t you?”

“I am, lieutenant.”

“Very well then. You come from a family who have always been loyal to the Crown, and you are incredibly skilled for being lower class.” Sans had to stop himself from frowning. Undoubtedly she had meant it as a compliment, yet it was hard not to feel at least a little offended. She grinned widely at him. “Such abilities can’t be wasted here. I am sending you to the Royal Academy for guard training.”

Sans’ mouth fell open. That was where the New Home-guards trained. Where all the officers came from. It was basically only the nobility who went there. There was _no chance_ she was serious.

“Close that mouth, Gaster. You look like an idiot.”

It snapped closed, and he almost dropped the thief in his shock.

“Now then, _Trainee_ Gaster,” she said, and that was when he realized she _was_ serious. He _was_ going to the Royal Academy. At first he wanted to grin, before he realized what that really meant. He swallowed. To study with the New Home nobility. Him. The kid from the Hotland slum. Fuck. “Dust that criminal, and go home and pack your things. The term started a month ago, so you will have a lot to catch up on.”

Nodding quickly, he replied, “Yes lieutenant. Thank ya.”

“Oh, and you might want to work on that accent. Makes you sound like a gutter rat. No one’ll respect you if you talk like that.”

He nodded again. “As ya say, Lieutenant.”

This was going to be tough. But it was the best chance he’d ever get, and like _hell_ was he going to give it up. When she turned her back to him, he smirked. Time for him to get the recognition he deserved.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if this is anything to have, I'll write the second part of it?


End file.
